The
most important work in the very small batch of studio recordings
Celibidache set down for Decca in the late 1940s with the London
Philharmonic Orchestra was Tchaikovsky 5. I don’t know this
recording and the only relatively early example known to me
of Celibidache conducting a Tchaikovsky symphony is the Pathétique
(Milan 1960). This shows that he was taking unusual interpretative
solutions in Tchaikovsky even then – while in many other composers
his approach was still “normal”. To tell the truth I never liked
the performance much and as it’s not strictly comparable with
the present disc I haven’t gone back to test my reactions. I
have already recorded my mixed reactions to the late Celibidache
manner as applied to composers other than Bruckner and I have
to say I approached with some misgivings a performances which
is longer by over 13 minutes than my much-loved Mravinsky.
Just
to give some idea of the sheer originality of this performance,
here are some timings:
|
|
I
|
II
|
III
|
IV
|
tt
|
|
Celibidache*
|
18:15
|
16:34
|
06:35
|
14:19
|
55:43
|
|
Furtwängler
(Turin 1952)
|
15:13
|
13:55
|
06:51
|
10:44**
|
46:43
|
|
Horenstein
(Philharmonia)
|
15:40
|
13:09
|
06:00
|
12:16
|
47:05
|
|
Koussevitzky
(Boston 1944)
|
15:19
|
13:50
|
06:18
|
11:57
|
47:24
|
|
Mravinsky (2nd
DG version)
|
14:28
|
11:48
|
05:23
|
10:59
|
42:38
|
|
Silvestri (Philharmonia)
|
16:11
|
13:43
|
06:00
|
11:26
|
47:20
|
*
The booklet timings do not correspond to those read by my
computer, which are longer in every case. However, I have taken
them on trust since the pauses between movements have been retained
with subdued coughing, shuffling, surreptitious tuning etc.
I believe the booklet timings correspond to the actual music
and are therefore a better comparison with the other mostly
studio performances.
**
This would appear to be the fastest performance of all, but
I do not remember it to be so. I would have to check but I think
Furtwängler applied some once-traditional cuts, also made by
Mengelberg and, I understand, Schmidt-Isserstedt and Sargent.
I
also have Markevich (Philips) and Fricsay (DG) on LP, so no
timings, but I’d say the tensely dramatic Markevich is close
to Mravinsky while Fricsay is more “European”, with a fairly
expansive slow movement. It can be seen that Mravinsky
– and I think Markevich – are alone in their fiercely driven
approach with little let-up even in the “Andante cantabile”.
However, with the sole exception of Furtwängler’s third movement,
nobody else comes remotely close to Celibidache’s expansiveness.
Celibidache
himself would have been scathing about the idea that a list
of timings can tell us anything useful. I nevertheless suggest
that this table shows, at least, that while we may reasonably
make comparisons between the other conductors, Celibidache has
to be taken sui generis.
So,
having set out with certain preconceptions against the performance,
I have to say it was a total revelation.
The
slow introduction is long-breathed and takes all of three minutes.
It can be seen very clearly how the tempo is not a dogmatic
imposition which the conductor then tries to justify with phrasing
detailed enough to hold the interest. Rather, the tempo is a
consequence of the long crescendos and diminuendos, of the infinite
shades of nuance. The tempo is simply the space which allows
these things to happen.
The
“Allegro con anima” creeps in gently with phrasing that is beautifully
tender yet sprung with balletic lightness. Such is the variation
in timbre and the give and take between the orchestral departments
that ultimately the tempo is not perceived as slow at all. The
climaxes have a dramatic force without any inclination to press
ahead.
It
has to be made very clear, with regard to the second movement,
that this is not a narcissistic emotional wallow, such as late
Bernstein could sometimes indulge in. The ear is caressed by
the vocal quality of the phrasing and the music speaks of love
and compassion, not self-pity. I found I was not so much listening
to Celibidache-conducts-Tchaikovsky, I felt that Tchaikovsky
was speaking to me directly. The dramatic return of the motto
theme in this movement has a quite devastating impact.
The
Valse is very gentle and tender. It may be a “Valse lente” but
the rhythm of the dance is always there. While the violin semiquavers
impressed under Mengelberg by the brilliance of their articulation,
here they impress by dynamic gradations expressed with a unanimity
you would hardly believe possible from an entire string section,
however many rehearsals they have had.
The
finale, after a broad start, sets up a pounding rhythm which
belies the fact that, timed by the clock, it is pretty slow.
The secondary material fits into this tempo without sounding
rushed, as it often does. The ending is incredibly powerful.
It is notable how Celibidache paces it with little crescendos
and diminuendos so that it becomes more and more colossal as
it reaches its final climax.
This
ending has sometimes been criticised as a hollow triumph. Does
Celibidache make things better or worse by giving it such terrific
weight?
Obviously,
I cannot know what Tchaikovsky had in mind nor how Celibidache
interpreted Tchaikovsky’s intentions. In most performances,
the effect is that the motto theme, which is brooding and doom-laden
at the beginning, which brutally interrupts the slow movement
and which imposes itself dolefully on the closing stages of
the Valse, returns at the end as a personal triumph by
the composer. He has apparently regained his optimism at the
last moment. Looked at this way, I can understand the criticisms
made of it. In this performance, however, it seems a triumph,
certainly, but a triumph of inexorable destiny which marches
in to engulf everything. The symphony therefore emerges no less
devastatingly tragic than the Pathétique itself.
I
haven’t always welcomed the decision taken in this series to
leave the spaces between movements exactly as they were in the
concert, with all the extraneous noises that entails. In this
case I actually felt I needed a moment or two of relaxation
before continuing.
As
I write I am still shattered by this performance. I have never
belonged to the fraternity which likes to be snooty about Tchaikovsky
5 just because it’s so popular. But I had never imagined that
the work could convey so much.
Even
so, doubts begin to assail me. If I listen again, knowing what
I am going to hear, will I undergo the same emotional experience,
or just an intellectual appreciation of the means by which it
was achieved? Would the slow tempi be equally convincing the
second time round? In other words, would Celibidache’s noted
suspicions of the recording process be proved correct? Namely,
would I have to admit that any performance is a single event
and, if a recording of it can reproduce the occasion at all,
it can do so only once?
Alternatively,
would I become so enthralled by the time-span of this performance
that all others would appear slick and superficial? I have not
tried listening to other performances for the moment. Frankly,
I have no wish to discover that much-loved versions like that
of Mravinsky have lost their appeal, and I think that this will
not be so if I wait a little while before returning to them.
I think, though, that my perceptions of this work can never
be the same again.
So
what is my recommendation? Those few who had the privilege of
actually attending a Celibidache performance of this symphony
should maybe just cherish the memory, as the conductor would
have preferred. For the rest, a disc capable of communicating
such a great experience cannot be ignored. Buy it, but treat
it as a unique experience. Do not try to compare it with others
and do not return to it too soon.
Christopher
Howell
Munich Philharmonic
Orchestra/Sergiu Celibidache
[58:26]
